Project KDX
by Avalas
Summary: A legendary monster of the planes arrives in the Claymoreverse. A dark parody of melodramatic proportions. WARNING: Yuri, nudity, sex, AWESOME character ahead! Now with 100% more gruesome kills in every chapter!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own neither Planescape nor Claymore, but for the purposes of this fic they will be combined. Let's begin, shall we?

Project KDX

Prologue

Battles may be won and lost in the blink of an eye, but for some soldiers, the end never arrives. They are ever vigilant, waiting for enemies who never come, for comrades who are long gone. In Sigil, the city at the center of the multiverse, with portals leading to every plane and realm imaginable, one such soldier waited. She had no name apart from the project that spawned her: KDX, and she was the ultimate foot soldier in the ultimate war, the Blood War. Trained from birth by the tanar'ri Bloodfist Legion, she was instructed for one purpose and one purpose only—to destroy the baatezu enemy.

However, the fiendish offensive in the city of Sigil had ended in failure. Both tanar'ri and baatezu alike retreated in disgrace, and Project KDX was left behind with no enemy to be found. Therefore, deep in the Slags, a section of the city's slums that was still strewn with war damage, she waited. Underground, in one of the abandoned Legion bunkers, she set up camp in front of the retreat portal that had closed once and forever. For what purpose? She was not sure. Every day, she used her talons to dig another notch into the wall, thinking, "They will come for me."

Despite her abyssal origins, the KDX was a creature of habit. She patrolled the subterranean pathways that linked the abandoned Legion forts, clearing them of vermin. Not a day passed in which she did not come across a stray dog or undead. Thanks to a voracious appetite and a stomach of unmatched constitution, disposal of corpses was never a problem. On occasion, she chanced upon a local slum dweller wandering in her defensive perimeter. Some she saw little reason to bother, but for the most part these invaders were treasure hunters, toughs, and squatters who had to be dealt with. The Legion's Sigil beachhead was to be defended until the army returned. As a good soldier, she would carry out this mission and be praised.

The bones of victims started piling up, at times haphazardly strewn amidst the rubble, at times arranged in a demonstration of intent. Once, in a particularly fickle and bored moment, she took the time to arrange the skulls of a family of migrating arakora in the letters K-D-X, thus turning what had been rumor into a bona fide legend. The citizens of the Hive Ward finally got a name for the object of their fear: The Kadyx. Next to the Lady of Pain, the god-like ruler of Sigil, the Kadyx became the city's greatest mystery. None had ever seen the Kadyx, and apart from an odd whiff of cinnamon and some unusually large claw marks in the concrete debris, there was no solid proof of the creature's existence. But to the Hivers, the monster was real as life and death. Smart children learned to heed their mothers when they were told to avoid the Slags.

There were those who saw the people of the Hive as victims, and despite the Kadyx's demon heart she could be counted among them. However, she saw the scavengers in the Slags for what they were. They came brandishing weapons, the lust for riches glinting in their eye. They sometimes came alone, sometimes in packs—these peelers and rogues, parasites and exploiters who preyed on their own. For them, it was all about the weapons, the magic, the pieces of gold and platinum they could rob. The Kadyx's attitude towards these types was a singular hatred. This was the natural result of her political training, which had been so tightly controlled from the day she was born that it would have made a baatezu proud. Her "father," in actuality a handler, had taught her everything she needed to know. She was told that every society had two types of individuals—those who work and those who exploit. The latter simply did not deserve to live.

Life in the Slags assumed an all-too-easy pace. The Kadyx would venture forth from her den each morning to patrol, killing and eating whatever vermin she came across. When she found some abandoned supplies, she made it a point to carry them back underground to stockpile them for future use. She particularly liked the standard tanar'ri ration of black biscuits, which were for her filling in a way that no human meal was. Like this, months turned into years and years into decades. Over time, the Kadyx mastered the arts of stealth and camouflage. Her killing technique was adapted to secrecy and efficiency, for the Lady of Pain was forever watching, ready to maze of flay alive anyone causing undue disruption in her city. For this reason, the Kadyx also honed the use of her polymorph ability. To the legends of the Kadyx's gruesome kills were added sightings of a blonde beauty wandering the Slags in a tattered coat, humming to herself in morose but proud tones.

Today, however, was not just another day. The Kadyx was a beast with keen senses well attuned to the rhythms of rock and soil. She could distinguish in an instant whether intruders into her domain were man or beast, young or old. But by the rhythms of their footsteps echoing deep within the earth, she knew that today was different. Today was the first day in decades when she had been awakened by footsteps—not one or two, but dozens, scores, and then hundreds. The earth shook with the thumping of boots. The invasion was on.

Like any good soldier, the Kadyx sprang into action. Holed up in an impassable urban ruin with sharp talons, plenty of imagination, and all the supplies and time in the multiverse, she had been preparing for this day. She had rehearsed this battle in her mind innumerable times, running over all the possible approaches and search patterns. Firing pits and traps, carefully concealed in the rubble, were checked and double-checked. Explosives were ready. She was ready to fight and win.

In the grand movements of the Planes, the battle being fought that day in the Slags was but a minor skirmish. In fact, it was a mere punctuation mark in one of the most brutal conflicts known-to-date. The Blood War had flared up once again, spilling into the Outlands as the baatezu surged forth to crush Legion once and for all. The Factions stood with their alliances; others fought to protect their homelands. What began as a campaign in the Lower Planes exploded a planar war. One year later, the Legion was destroyed as a fighting force, but not before it had annihilated two entire orders of the Baatorian First Command, with another five mauled so badly they had to be disbanded. Bones and ash littered the Outlands as countless mortals fell fighting on both sides. Although Sigil had been spared most of the devastation, it was now flooded with refugees; its slums became more crowded, filthy, and dangerous than ever before.

The Kadyx knew nothing of this as she prepared to fight that day. Certainly she noticed the sudden swelling of the Hive population but was never curious enough to investigate. Would it have made a difference had she known that her comrades were most likely dead? One cannot say for sure. Such truths would have crushed her hopes of being rescued. However, they could have also pushed her to exact a terrible retribution on the city.

As it turned out, the battle took a toll worthy of any vengeance. In what had been a mostly political move, the City Council had voted to clear out the Slags. Given what had just happened with the war, it was simply intolerable to have a murderous tanar'ri weapon sitting in the heart of Sigil. They did not know what the Kadyx was or what her intentions were. They did not even know for sure if the Kadyx even existed. All they had to go on were rumors and legends, but with an anxious city brimming with restless refugees, they needed to put an end to the situation.

Many among those who took part in the Slags Operation had a fair skepticism of the Kadyx's existence. Even after losing nearly a hundred in killed and wounded to the traps and explosive devices the Kadyx had planted and concealed along all possible routes of advance, they had their doubts. Such things could have been left over from the invasion, or could have been prepared by bandits or even a straggler squad of Legion soldiers. The occasional but ever-so-deadly crossbow ambush pointed strongly towards the latter. It was only after they discovered one of their scouts, disemboweled and tied to a post with his arm propped up and pointing towards a tunnel entrance did the reality of the legend begin to sink in.

As the news swept over the attackers, the collapse in morale was almost instant. Several lead elements attempted to break ranks and flee. Order had to be reimposed by the Mercykillers under the threat of death. Those who had shown cowardice were volunteered to lead the way, sharp claws ahead of them and sharp swords pointed at their backs. Thus began the next phase of the operation, a deadly game of cat and mouse that played out in the caverns and tunnels that the Kadyx called home. Over the course of a week, the expeditionary force labored underground. Each day, many scouts went missing or showed up later in pieces. Cave-ins buried men alive and cut up any sort of consolidated front that the attackers could muster. The survivors could only catch fleeting glimpses of their quarry—a claw poking out from behind a corner, a pair of eyes flashing gold in the darkness.

Still, despite all their disadvantages, the attackers made progress. Under the leadership of the Mercykiller general Melrasat Eran, the Sigilians began to adapt. Carefully allocating all the resources at his disposal, Eran devised ways to neutralize the Kadyx's plans. Cipher and Signer wizards established a perimeter in the operational zone with magical force fields. Dwarven engineers and craftsmen followed up advance teams, building up and reinforcing tunnels to prevent collapse. Fliers in the expeditionary force were organized into logistical detachments, which dropped supplies directly from the Factions' headquarters. This bypassed many of the spontaneous hazards of the Slags, such as planar vortexes and scavenging animals. Field hospitals were set up on the ground. Eran had bet correctly that the Kadyx was not going to head topside, at least not where she could be easily spotted. The last thing the creature wanted to do was to expose herself to the surface so that the Lady of Pain could come down to flay her. As powerful as the Kadyx was when compared to the mortal rabble, she was not a god. And even gods stood no chance against the Lady on her terms.

Day and night knew no difference as the attackers pushed forward. Each advance was measured in yards, and each step brought them closer to cornering the Kadyx. The magical barriers were like a noose tightening one notch at a time. Even as the Kadyx fought back with unshakable determination, delivering piles of fresh kills with every passing hour, Sigil's forces made steady progress.

Eventually, the Kadyx was cornered. In a cavern that had been used by the Legion as a makeshift prison, the Kadyx found herself trapped alongside the bones of baatezu enemies. She tried to dig her way out, but every time her claws ran into the soft stop of a force field. She put on an impressive show as her attackers finally pushed their way into the room. She thrashed and roared. Bits of rock and steel bounced off the barriers as she shredded her surroundings. She charged at the barrier, clawed at it, and bared her fangs. Even the most steel-nerved Harmonium trooper could not remain unfazed by the sight.

The creature was the stuff of nightmares, standing over seven feet tall with a hard, black carapace covered in thick scales. It was easy to see how she was a killing machine—a long snout with rows of dagger-like teeth, talons like sickle blades, a tail as sharp as an icepick, and murderous intent glinting in those golden eyes. Some with roots in the prime worlds instantly recognized this creature. She was a tarrasque, the most powerful engine of destruction known to nature, here in miniature. And like a tarrasque, she was virtually indestructible. Those who did not know this fact learned it up close and personal.

Had the Kadyx been able to, she would have laughed at the pitiful attempts to kill her. First they filled the barrier with poison gas, which made her collapse to the ground with burning lungs. They then shot all manner of magical missiles and rays at her, set her on fire, threw acid on her, and even got a squad of troopers to stick a their magical toothpicks in her. Boulders just bounced off her head and carapace. One unfortunate sucker got his foot crushed by a bouncing rock. To be sure, all this hurt like hell, and she was passing in and out of consciousness from the shock and blood loss, but there was satisfaction in seeing the fear wash over her attackers as they saw wounds closing the instant they withdrew their swords. She just had to wait, to play dead, to wait for these fools to drop their guard. Then she would set upon them and tear out their throats before they could even blink.

In her pain-induced delirium, the Kadyx could not tell how long this was going on. Hours? Days? She wasn't concerned. Every moment brought fresh, burning pain as blades and spears were forced into her vitals. They tried to gouge her eyes out. They had even gotten her heart a few times. However, all that healed without fuss. In the corner of her eye, she caught something that she had only dreamed of seeing after all these years: her father.

Was he actually there, or was he just a hallucination? He looked every bit as vigorous and handsome as the day she last saw him half a century ago, though he had been wearing a Legion uniform then. Now, he was dressed in a simple worker's tunic. She strained her barely-open eye to get a better look, and there was no mistaking him. She had committed every contour of that man's face to her memory. He was the first thing she ever saw and the one anchor in her life. His indoctrination had always guided her, and even now she lived to make him proud.

_We meet again, my child._ Her father's voice echoed in her head, bringing with it a tranquility that she had not known for ages. The outside world, the pain, all faded as her mind retreated to the quiet space she had not seen since her childhood. Once she came here just about every day, in between training sessions when she was locked up in her cage. This was a place of dreams, and it was just as she left it. It was a small, cozy room with whitewashed walls that shone brightly without any source of light. A soft bed stood in a corner. Banners of the Nettle Guard and Kalas Brigades were nailed to the wall above it, and models of ships and machinery sat haphazardly on steel shelves. On the floor was her last, greatest childhood project—a single-stacked tower of steel cubes. Originally, she had wanted to get it to reach the ceiling, but as a child she had never had the patience to finish it. It could stand to be a bit taller. She picked up one of the many steel blocks on the floor, stood on her tippy-toes, having reverted to her childhood size, and carefully placed it atop of the stack.

A firm hand gripped her shoulder, and a soothing voice filled her ears. "My child, you must listen."

The Kadyx turned around; she wore a grin that grew wider with each passing second. "Father, you're here. You've finally come back!"

Her father knelt down and tickled her fang, a gesture of endearment that she afforded only him. "You must listen. We don't have much time. They are trying to prepare a _wish_ spell to get rid of you."

"Then you must help me. Save me," the Kadyx pleaded.

"Do you remember our lessons?"

"I know every one. By heart!"

"There was one lesson I couldn't teach you."

"Which?"

"No powerful tanar'ri can be held by a mere cage. Why?"

"'Cause they teleport. But I can't—can I?

"Yes, you can. I was ordered by Byakala to hide this because she always feared not being able to control you."

"How?"

"It's all mental, and I've removed the psychic block that had sealed off that ability. Just think of where you want to be and will yourself there with every fiber in your body. There is a range, though, so you'd best not go too far."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Now, I can't stay here much longer, and you'd best get going. Escape, my child. The future is yours."

"One thing. How was I?"

"You, my dear, were magnificent."

With those words, the world faded back in. The blood, the pain, and the curses of her tormentors were all back in full force, but strangely enough none of that mattered. Her head was clear. _Think where, will there_—she repeated this mantra as she ran through all the possible exits for her escape. The tunnels were out of the question. Many of them were crawling with guards, and with her wounds she wouldn't be able to fight her way out. It would have to be the surface, towards the edge of the Slags. She would escape and find another hole to hide in. There were plenty of abandoned crypts and basements in this city.

She could see it clearly now, a pit wedged between two pieces of rubble. They wouldn't see her teleporting out. A tingle of energy ran down her spine, and before she knew it this place materialized before her eyes. However, she had miscalculated. Two patrols had heard the noise and were closing in on her location from either side. Before her was a swirling whirlwind of red and blue that lit up her ragged form in the darkness. It was a planar vortex, one of the many unnatural phenomena that had plagued this part of the city since the invasion. The Kadyx glanced to one side and then the other. The guards had drawn their weapons. She then looked ahead at the vortex. Its shifting mosaic of colors indicated that it was a random portal to hell-knows-where. Several times her eyes darted back and forth between the vortex and the guards before she made up her mind. She was going to throw her lot in with fate and take her chances. She just hoped that wherever she ended up had food.

Seeing as her legs were still too weak to carry her, she crawled forward, towards the portal. The next moments were blurry. She was vaguely aware of being spun around for some time before being dumped head-first into meadow of some sort. The sun was blazing overhead. In addition to knocking the wind out of her, the fall seemed to tear open some wounds that had only tentatively healed. Her whole body was on fire, and she was gasping for breath. With her last ounce of strength, she polymorphed into her humanoid form.

-

AN: Bonus points for any reviewer who catches the classic sci-fi reference.


	2. Chapter 1: Dogmeat

Project KDX

Chapter 1

The Kadyx lay naked in the grass for what seemed like hours. It was a good thing that she had switched to her human form. Those days of constantly needing to regenerate had drained her physically, and this smaller form needed much less energy to maintain. She could, therefore, heal much more effectively, especially since her stomach had been empty for days. As her wounds closed and knitted together, she entertained herself by watching the clouds pass lazily overhead. She was fascinated and perplexed, for she had never seen anything like them, so pure and fluffy. They looked good enough to eat. Nothing in Sigil could compare to what she was now seeing. The grass in the meadow was thick and green; the wildflowers dappled the landscape every color and hue. Birds chirped from the trees, and in the distance ran a shimmering stream that was churning and frothing. In Sigil, the only cloud cover was smog, and the only water that came down was muddied by the Foundry's soot.

She considered the possibility that she had landed in the Upper Planes, Arborea or Elysium or another one of the Heavens. In that case, any tanar'ri would be soon set upon by hosts of angels. Too bad, her first order of business would be to find a portal out. Her body still ached, but she could now move. She rolled over slightly and pushed off the ground, straightening herself as she walked forward on shaky feet. At the river, she stuck her face in the water and drank furiously. It was so cool, so sweet to her parched lips. She was so absorbed in quenching her thirst that she did not notice the dog that was creeping towards her and growling. She turned towards it when it was only a few yards away. A fierce stare stopped the animal in its tracks. From further down the bank, a human child of ten or eleven was scrambling towards the scene.

"Toby, wait! C'mon, Toby!" the child cried.

The Kadyx saw the appearance of the boy as a good opportunity to get some answers. Although she did not have much experience dealing with humans outside of killing them, she had been taught the essentials. Basically, one needed to hide the fangs and put on the most friendly face possible. Cooing in sweet tones, from what she had been told by some women in the Legion, also apparently helped. What was absolutely essential was not to show any fear. The Enemy would zero in on fear.

Ordinarily, the Kadyx's human form would have been enough to disarm any man. Who could not stare at her well-toned figure, her slightly broad shoulders, her unblemished skin, her blonde hair shining with a silver sheen in the sun? Muscle and curves were distributed in ideal proportions on her lithe frame. The only signs of her otherworldly nature came in her slightly-pointed ears and her golden irises.

Ordinarily, she would have been stunning. However, in her surprise the Kadyx had forgotten that she was caked head to toe in her own dried-up blood. From the kid's point of view, this was some crazed woman, possibly a murderer hiding in the woods, who was walking towards him with a wicked grin plastered on her face. He screamed. The dog lunged at the Kadyx, who instinctively caught it before it could score a bite. The momentum put them both on the ground, and the weakened Kadyx rolled with it a few times before she could get a secure hold on the creature. She then tightened her powerful arms and crushed the dog's rib cage. It whimpered once and died.

The Kadyx let out a sneer. She had dispatched thousands of these mangy scavenging beasts. It was way too early for any dog to get the jump on her. She scooped up the broken corpse and smiled at the boy, who screamed louder than before. She took an additional step forward, and the kid was sent sprinting in the other direction. The thought of chasing the kid down and shutting him up crossed the Kadyx's mind, but her stomach growled. And she had a perfectly good piece of meat lying in her arms.

Food, food at last. She let out her fangs and drank deep of the blood. With a stroke of her talon, she gutted the beast and began chomping it down head-first. Although her jaws were smaller now than in her full form, they were strong enough to pulverize the bone and suck out the sweet, sweet marrow. After so long without a meal, she made sure that not one morsel went to waste. From the first bite she realized that this was no mere dog, at least not like the mangy, half-emaciated and diseased mutts that infested the Slags. This one was fat and full of flavor, one whose organs well-gorged with nutrients. She made a mental note to thank the kid if she ever saw him again.

Feeling refreshed after her first meal in days, the Kadyx decided to scout the riverbank. As much of a risk as it was, she needed to find a settlement. She needed some supplies and, more importantly, information about this place and any portals that may exist. However, she was again waylaid after only a few minutes of walking. Next to a tree was a small pail filled with fish. Probably, it was the kid who had been out fishing. She had never seen such things before, since Sigil had no water to speak of, but from what she could tell, they were made of meat. She picked one up by the tail; it was still alive and trying to flop about. She bit it on the head and chomped it down whole. Within seconds, the entire pail was empty.

Having been only been here for a few hours, the Kadyx was already taking a liking to this place. The clean air and water and the easy food were things she never had at any point in her life. For the next few hours, until well into the afternoon, she splashed about in the river gorging herself on the fish that were unfortunate enough to come within reach of her claws. Bit by bit the blood and dirt were washed off. When she had finally eaten her fill, she built a fire to dry herself off and warm herself for the coming night.

As the sun was about to descend over the hills, she spotted a party of grown men walking towards her. She counted four of them approaching along the road. No sudden movements, she told herself. She could not act in a suspicious way. She prodded the fire with a stick and cast them a sidelong glance. As they came closer, she could make out what they were whispering to each other.

"Why the hell do we have to be out here?"

"For the last time, the boss said so."

"Over that stupid Uwe kid?"

"We all know he's a fuckin' liar."

"Look, we'll check this out and then we go home. Can you just shut it and get along until then?"

"I don't like this. There's one of those witches skulking about."

"Shut up, shut up. Let me do the talking."

As the group pulled up to the campfire, the leader eyed the Kadyx's naked figure and practically left a puddle of drool on the ground. Despite the nervous looks on his companions' faces, he seemed perfectly at ease. He gave a whistle. "My prayers have been answered. What brings a darlin' like you to these parts?"

Keeping her eyes down at the fire, the Kadyx pointed at the river. "Animals there…taste good."

The men seemed to strain their ears. Indeed, the common tongue was spoken with a distinctive accent on the Outer Planes. So distinctive was it that it was difficult for primes to understand, initially at least. The leader looked at her quizzically. "Not from around these parts, are ye?"

"No. Just passing through." The Kadyx sniffed the air a few times and caught an unmistakable whiff of blood. "You just eat?" she asked.

One of the men broke out in a gibbering fit. After some incoherent stammering, he managed to blurt out, "My Gods, she's onto—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence due to the leader clocking him on the head with a right hook. "Shut the hell up and get a hold of yourself!"

The Kadyx sniffed some more. She knew this smell well—it was human blood, and these men did not smell human. Were these men compatriots of a sort, or did they come here to kill her, mistaking her for a human? Were they criminals on the run? She chose her next words carefully. "What do you want?"

"I was going to ask a few questions," the man said, stroking his chin. "But I'd settle for you."

"Try someone else." She lifted her eyes from the fire and stared at the men for the first time. The moment their eyes met, the man who had been the most agitated of the bunch broke down again.

"You see her eyes? Oh my gods she's her! She's gonna kill us all she's gonna kill us all!"

"Dumbass!" the leader snapped back, "Claymores have fuckin' silver eyes, not gold. She doesn't even have a weapon! Now transform, dumbass. I'm not going back empty-handed after all the crap I had to put up from you guys all day."

"But—"

"Do it, you pussy-hearted, sheep-shagging piece of cockshit!"

Before her eyes, the men's forms changed. Their skin discolored, they grew tusks, and one even popped out a pair of wings. Muscle and bone enlarged to inhuman proportions, and their hands and feet turned into talons. Their clothes stretched and then ripped off to reveal their new monstrous forms. "You're coming with us, girlie," the leader said.

To this, the she only sighed and poked the fire some more. That was it? A bunch of mutated goblinoid rejects.

The leader laughed manaically, seemingly oblivious to the Kadyx's indifferent response. "Frozen with fear? Get her, boys! If you gotta kill her, save the bottom half for me!"

"But—"

"What part of that didn't you understand, cockshit!"

The leader gave the agitated fellow a shove that set him stumbling towards the fire. He lurched and hobbled forward, trying to do his best to be loud and intimidating, but it clearly was not working out for him. The Kadyx calmly picked up her stick and chucked the smoldering piece of wood at his face, burying it in his eye. He fell to the ground and rolled into the fire, screaming.

Grunting in frustration, the leader motioned his two remaining companions forward. "Flank her! I'll take—"

For once, he didn't get to finish his own sentence. His head fell to the ground with eyes wide open in shock. Just moments later, a second creature fell down desperately trying to hold his guts in. The remaining one turned to flee, but he did not get very far with that giant sword blade protruding from his chest.

What the Kadyx saw from her vantage point was a figure in white darting in and out of the shadows. The speed of the footwork and the blade handling were impeccable, but she did not know if this new arrival was her benefactor or yet another enemy. She was ready to flee at a moment's notice.

"My, my, my, what do we have here," the mystery swordsman said as she revealed herself. With her sword, she gently prodded the sobbing, ruined body of the cowardly one. "If you're still alive, you can answer a question for me."

"I'll answer anything you want! Don't kill me, please! I've never eaten a human, I swear!"

"Just answer this question for me. Who sent you?"

"Mr. Orsi sent us. I didn't want to come, but some kid was blabbing about seeing a strange woman near the river. I never wanted to be here, you gotta believe me!"

"I see." The woman gave a smirk and proceeded to drive the sword into his heart. Pretending to wipe some sweat off her brow, she added, "Well, that's that." She then turned to the Kadyx. "Oh, hello there," she said as she replaced her sword behind her back.

"Greetings…to you," the Kadyx said slowly.

"I don't sense any yoki from you, but I've never seen a human so unafraid of yoma."

"The Enemy feeds on fear. I hide it."

"The enemy you say? I wasn't aware that humans were on a side in this battle. Now, who are you?"

The two of them were virtually face-to-face over the dimming light of the fire. Both were astounded at what they found in each other's features. It was like staring into a mirror. Apart from the fact that the Kadyx's hair did not extend past her ears and the difference in eye color, they were dead ringers for one another. The Kadyx even had the pointed ears that even made this Claymore warrior distinctive among her peers. Clearly, the woman was taken with awe; she had reputation for narcissism, and she saw the Kadyx as the ultimate gift to herself. "I'm…Ophelia," she said in a breathless whisper.

"I'm Kad…y." She caught herself before she revealed her identity.

"Well, Katie, I'm thinking that our meeting was fated." In a flash, Ophelia circled around and hugged her new plaything from behind. Nestling her face into the Kadyx's neck, Ophelia inhaled deeply and purred. "Aww, keep still. Let me enjoy your scent. Cinnamon, I haven't smelled cinnamon for ages, mmmmmm.

"It's…perfume," the Kadyx lied. Needless to say, she was feeling more than a bit uncomfortable with this unwanted attention. She was completely baffled. Her father was the only one who even dared to hold her hand, and now, here was this strange woman who looked just like her who was running her hands up and down her body, squeezing her breasts and tickling the nub between her legs. Every muscle in her being tensed up. Goosebumps broke out.

"Aww, don't be so tense. We were mmmmade for each other." Ophelia began licking her ear, purring even more than before.

Sodding hells. The realization washed over her in the form of a cold sweat. She was ensnared by one of those social degenerates that her father warned her about. What was that he said about them? Think, she had to think. When was it? Basic intel, yes that was it. Yes, she remembered what he had said—that these degenerates lived a shameful existence and could easily be compromised through manipulation and blackmail. Was she going to risk it? As much as it disgusted her, she could use an ally. She could certainly use help traveling through this place, someone who could help her pass unnoticed through this world.

Suppressing the few pieces of dignity and pride she still had, she slowly turned to face Ophelia's longing eyes. She cupped the woman's cheek and leaned in for an open kiss. She had never been more revolted in her life, and as Ophelia's tongue wrestled with hers and traced the tips of her teeth, she used every bit of her willpower to keep from puking up a bucket of fish heads. The Kadyx's hands massaged the small of Ophelia's back, occasionally dipping down to the more risqué territory below. Her new "friend" took this as a sign to push further. The Kadyx felt Ophelia's fingers probe deeper into the folds between her legs. The revulsion was now beyond anything she could reasonably suppress. She wasn't ready for this. She couldn't do this. She had to get away.

The Kadyx was a creature of habit. When pressed, she reverted to what she knew best. In a desperation move, she grabbed Ophelia's waist-length ponytail, yanked on it, and swung hard. The woman was picked up like a rag doll and went crashing to the ground onto some rocks. Her body was contorted into an awkward pose, her neck stretched and twisted, clearly snapped. She wore an expression of frozen shock. Her mouth opened and closed as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. The piece of brain matter dribbling out the side of her skull probably meant she was a goner anyway.

Even now, the Kadyx was disturbed. Looking down at the paralyzed soon-to-be corpse, it was as if she were watching her own death. If this woman had friends, she had to get rid of the evidence before they called a witch hunt down on her head. She knew of only one way how, but first she had to get rid of the brain. She heard that one could contract all sorts of weird diseases from eating diseased brains, and this woman was definitely not right in the head. Using her talon, she sliced off the top of Ophelia's skull and scooped out the contents, which finally stopped the twitching. She buried that mess together with the decidedly unappetizing ponytail in a deep hole next to a tree.

As she looked at the corpse without its characteristic hair, an idea slowly percolated into her frontal lobes. Ophelia's clothes would fit well on her, if a bit tight around the shoulders. The material had some give to it. If she could pretend to be the dead woman, no one would suspect a thing. Well, provided that she didn't run into any of her friends. At this point, she didn't have many options and couldn't think of much else. But she had to work quickly.

She carefully slipped Ophelia out of her uniform and searched the pockets of the "yoma" who had fallen earlier. She didn't find much of value, but what she did find was potentially useful: a few pocketknives, some rope, some coppers, and enough water to fill one small canteen. She then transformed into her full size and gobbled up each body in just a couple of bites. And to think she thought she had had her fill of disgusting that day. The meat on all of these corpses was stringy, tough, and extremely bitter to her taste buds. The only thing that could compare to the disgusting taste of this meat was the meat of lemures, those regenerating baatezu glopsacks who could only be dealt a final death through digestion.

However, what was unexpected was the energy content of this meat. It was infused with some sort of strange energy that made her body feel light and tingle with power. After these four "snacks," she felt that she could almost go a week without eating. She only wished that it wouldn't taste so bad and made a mental note to devise a way to make this meat more palatable.

Reverting to her human size, the Kadyx then squeezed into Ophelia's uniform, still speckled with dots of purple and red blood. No matter how she tried, though, she could not fit into the steel boots, so she ended up borrowing a pair of discarded rope sandals from one of the yoma. Then, picking up the giant two-hander, she performed a few floryshes to feel its weight and balance. Satisfied, she hitched the blade to her back along with the other miscellaneous supplies she had collected.

What a day, going from good to bad to worse. The Kadyx had not gotten a useful piece of information from anybody. The only thing she was certain of as she headed down the dark, uncertain road was that whatever this land was, it sure as hell wasn't any heaven.


	3. Chapter 2: All the Glory

Project KDX

Chapter 2

"No, no, no! It doesn't make any sense!" a young, wiry man with thinning hair explained to the portly fellow sitting beside him.

"I told you to change the script, Rody. You're trying my patience."

"But it doesn't make any sense for Ash and Marta to be kissing in Act 3. They're sisters fighting over the same man!"

"Rody, who do you pay protection money to?"

The thin man held his head down and looked away.

"Answer me, Rody."

"You, Mr. Orsi."

"Good. I had to check. I get my cut from this playhouse, and I want to see the cash. Controversy makes the gold flow, so you put that scene in like a good boy, and we won't have to take your wife. She's looking rather plump these days, if you know what I mean."

Rody closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh. For seemingly the thousandth time, he felt more of his dignity slipping away. "Yes, Mr. Orsi. It will be done."

"Good. Now—"

The doors to the playhouse burst open, and a young, wifish man charged in. His eyes and hands twitched as he delivered the news. "She's here. They've spotted her coming up the road! What do we do, Sir?"

Orsi was not visibly perturbed, but he picked his corpulent body up from the chair where it left a noticeable impression. There, towering over the young playwright, he said, "Well, Rody, looks like we're going to need your wife anyway."

-:-

It was hard for the Kadyx to stay in a foul mood for long. She would have never lasted half a century alone in the Slags had it been her nature to mope. As a soldier, she had clear purpose. Surrounded by the fresh air and the luxurious summer landscape, she quickly found that her spirits were back up to form. After a night of walking, she was greeted by the sunrise, which basked the fields in such warm and radiant tones. Every moment was a new experience.

Just before midday, the Kadyx came across a settlement. According to the mileposts outside the gates, this town's name was Rossi, with a population of about 10000. It was as good a place as any to start her search for information. As she entered, she saw row upon row of well-maintained brick and stone houses. The streets were clean of any debris or garbage, and small islands in the middle of the main street housed carefully-manicured flowers and bushes. For someone who had spent half a century in the dirtiest and most broken part of the slums, this was yet another surprise.

However, what was not surprising was the reaction she was getting from the townies. Despite putting a big, non-offensive grin on her face as she strolled through the town, people passing by averted their gaze and quickened their steps. One woman screamed. Windows shuttered, and mothers clutched at their children. Could they somehow sense her monstrous aura, or was it because this Ophelia woman was known for her deviant perversions? Either way, this could prove to be a disadvantage when trying to get information.

Eventually, she made her way to town plaza, the site of a resplendent, shimmering fountain and a garden of equal splendor. However, it was strangely devoid of people. Only one man was there, a big fat one at that, sitting on a bench. He waved to her once and motioned for her to get closer.

"You know me?" asked the Kadyx as she walked over.

"Do I ever. You've been the talk of the town for days, Claymore."

"And you are?"

"Johan Orsi. As the Mayor I would like to welcome you to our fine town. However, I do hope that your stay here will be brief."

Orsi. She remembered that name from the cowardly yoma's final words. The group that had attacked her had been sent by him. She sniffed the air. "You…smell yoma."

The man sighed. "No point in denying it. As reported, you witches can root us out even in this form."

"You attacked me."

"Did they?" Orsi let out a sigh of frustration. "Really, I told those boys to just scout. I've no intention to pick a fight. As you can see, I am a man of peace. I am a businessman, and peace is good for my business."

The Kadyx just stared.

"I see that you are skeptical. Take a look around. This is a fine town, which my family had built up from a hole in the ground more than a century ago. It's the jewel of Toulouse. The people live better here than anywhere within a hundred miles, and I have been elected mayor of this place six times straight for the past thirty years."

"What do you want?" She still was not sure why she was even having this conversation.

"Look, I know some troublemaker's sent a letter to your organization talking about a 'yoma problem.' As you can see, there is no problem. In fact, if it weren't for us, this little outpost of civilization would have been overrun by bandits long ago. We don't even eat humans, aside from those condemned to death for crimes. So, let's make a deal. I don't know much about your organization, but I have heard that it gets paid for its yoma hunting. I don't know who the troublemaker is, but whatever he's paying you, I'll double it. No, no, I'm a generous man so I'll triple it. I assume that those lads I sent out are all dead now, so you can just tell your bosses that you completed your mission. Get a good meal from one of our restaurants, rent a nice bed in our tavern, and just leave us to our prosperity."

While the prospect of a good meal was something that always appealed to the Kadyx, the rest of mayor's appeal set the creature on edge. Were she a normal human being, she would have been easily swayed by his logic, but the rules were different for a soldier of the Legion. Making "deals" and "contracts" was the way of the hated baatezu enemy. Such agreements were only made to conceal deceit and treachery, and, in the Kadyx's mind, there were obviously strings and hidden consequences attached to what Orsi was offering her. Furthermore, the ideological training that she underwent as a child had neatly divided the world up into groups of exploiters and exploited. This well-dressed man, fat with money, very obviously belonged to the former. The very deal that he was offering her demonstrated that he was accustomed to buying power and influence. Who the hell was this pompous ass to tell her to get out of town?

She gave her response. "I won't take your money."

"You sure you won't reconsider? You can pop over to Michel's and enjoy one of our many fine games. Or if you prefer some…company…we can arrange for whatever suits your fancy. This is the finest town in the Heartlands, Claymore, and it would break my heart to see it fall apart."

The mayor had just turned the situation from bad to worse. Moral corruption was one of the many weapons of the exploiters, working to sap the strength from those who would challenge them. Vigilance against this threat was drilled into the head of every Legion soldier from the first day of training, and the Kadyx reacted accordingly. "I make no deals with the Enemy."

"I'm sorry you feel that way." The mayor stood and somersaulted back over the fountain. As he landed, he began transforming. His fine suit was destroyed in the process, but he was probably had wealth enough not to care. His final green-skinned form was similar to those who had attacked the Kadyx near the riverbank, except that he was much, much larger. Standing some twelve feet tall, the yoma known as Orsi was armed with great tusks and a massive, sickle claw on each arm. Giant, leathery wings had also sprouted from his back. "Bring 'em out, boys!" he bellowed.

From the adjacent buildings, a few dozen terrified humans, mostly women and children, filed out into the square. They were kept in line by yoma guards and herded together under the massive shadow of Mayor Orsi. The Kadyx moved her hand to draw her sword.

"If you move, people start dying. We made this gods-damned town, and we're prepared to take it with us."

"If they die, they die."

Orsi seemed to be taken aback by this reply. "You—you are a monster!" he growled.

"They die free, and you along with them."

Mayor Orsi took his claw to a woman's neck. "This is no joke. Take one step forward, and her head comes off!"

The Kadyx drew her sword and hoisted the heavy blade over her head in a high guard. She then took two hops back just to see the baffled look on the mayor's face. She only had one chance to do this right. She thought of where she wanted to be with all her might.

In a flash, she was gone. However, she had misjudged her jump. Having intended to pop in behind Orsi's back and split his head open, she instead materialized some ten yards in the air, giving her victim time to dodge. Her slash missed its intended point of impact but bit deeply into the shoulder, continuing down through much of the torso. The giant yoma fell face-first to the ground, gurgling blood.

There was no time to follow up. After she spun back and thrust the sword into the neck of one of the yoma guards, the others began to react to the situation. Some of the captives tried to make a run for freedom; a few ran straight into the waiting claws of the yoma. Throats were slashed; children were disemboweled. The next few moments were chaotic as any on the battlefield—the spraying blood, the screaming hostages, the yoma who couldn't decide between killing the hostages or defending themselves.

The Kadyx charged recklessly into this melee, taking down another two of Orsi's henchmen. However, past that, the element of surprise began to wear off. On the next attack, the sword got wedged in the body of one yoma, who pulled it in further and took it down to the ground as he died. When the Kadyx bent down to extract it, she was tackled. The yoma piled on top of her. She felt jaws clamp down on her arms and legs as she landed face-first onto the cobblestones. They couldn't draw blood, but nonetheless it was a particularly effective tactic. The best fighter could be neutralized if rendered immobile.

However, the Kadyx was not immobilized. Using sheer strength, she crawled to her feet, shaking violently to throw off her attackers. At least one yoma fell off with a dislocated jaw. Another tried to claw at her, but she punched him so hard that the side of his torso caved in. She elbowed and headbutted her way back towards the sword. It was almost within reach. To prevent her from recovering the weapon, one large yoma dove, wrapped his arms around her legs, and bit into her calf.

Frustrated, she bellowed out a roar. A number of her attackers seemed startled and gave momentary pause. Even the two yoma who were chasing down the hostages stopped to look her way. This flash of surprise quickly turned into soul-draining fear. The Claymore seemed to be growing. Her jumpsuit bulged with new musculature. Her skin darkened and her hands extended into talons. It was not her full monster form, but it was more than enough to deal with these insects. With one hand, she clamped down on the head of the yoma at her legs, digging her talons deep into his eye sockets. Before the yoma had the time to scream, she tore off the top of his skull off along with half his brain.

Morale is the lifeblood of any army, and for Orsi's men, their morale was on the verge of breaking. Whatever loyalty they held to their critically wounded boss was evaporating under the imperatives of pure survival instinct. The Kadyx, too, could exploit fear. One yoma who did not back away fast enough had the Kadyx leap on him and rip out his throat. She spat out the bloody piece of meat and set to work, plunging her claws into the yoma's torso and extracting his still-beating heart. It exploded in a shower of blood as she tore into it with her razor-sharp teeth.

For the yoma, the facts of nature had just been turned on their heads. They were the predators, not the prey. Yoma flesh wasn't even edible, or so they had thought. They launched into a full retreat. The yoma trampled over their wounded comrades and beat a path to the road. Those with wings attempted to fly out of the area. To this, the Kadyx simply laughed. With one stamp of her foot, those fools fell out of the air and smashed into the pavement. No flying creature could escape the earthbinding well of a tarrasque.

It was then that a new player arrived on the scene. Mobs of townsfolk closed in on the square from all directions, sealing off any chance of retreat. Among them were guards in full armor, who assumed their place at the vanguard of the formation. Most, however, were in civilian clothes and armed with whatever makeshift weapon they could get their hands on. Still, to a depleted and broken yoma force, their sheer numbers and ferocity made them a formidable army. They proved to be an impenetrable wall, as the few yoma who tried to force their way through found out. Even if they had been able to grind their way forward, they would not have been fast enough to escape the Kadyx, who had recovered her sword and was chopping through them like grass. A few were swallowed by the crowd, where they were forced to the ground in much the same way that the Kadyx had been. Once on the ground, they were hacked apart by various farm implements sharpened to a knife's edge.

Between the Kadyx and the armed mob, the remaining yoma were liquidated in short order. Their pleas to mercy fell on deaf ears, especially when the crowd reached the dead hostages. Amidst the killing frenzy, the Kadyx found herself standing over the body of Johan Orsi, who was still conscious enough to croak out a few last words. "Go ahead, Claymore…turn this town over to the…savages. This town—"

She stomped on his neck. One problem solved. A round of cheers came from the crowd, and one of the armed guards approached the Kadyx. "I'm a lieutenant in the town guard, Melvyn Kunst. This town thanks you, Claymore. We've been living under these yoma for far too long." The Kadyx's only response was a curt nod. The man continued, "I suppose you want your payment now. Well, we don't have much in the way of money, but if you'll stick around, I'm sure we'll be able to get you a decent sum." Again, the woman merely nodded. "All right, boys, Orsi's manor's getting sacked!"

Upon hearing that, the Kadyx's ears perked up. Of course. The yoma, who were by all accounts an affluent group, were dead; therefore, their possessions belonged to the town. She had stepped into the middle of an honest-to-goodness revolution. Her legs trembled with excitement. She had heard so many stories of the legion inciting popular rebellions, but she had never had the chance to participate in one. "I'm coming too!" she cried. "Let's crush some skulls!"

Lieutenant Kunst did not know what to make of this development. He just shrugged his shoulders, figuring that any help couldn't hurt. The mob was swelling. It spilled out into the adjoining streets, smashing statues and breaking down doors. Now that the yoma were dead, their vassals and enforcers no longer had their protection. They were now going to meet their ends in the streets, under the kicks of those whom they had ruled. Kunst and his men led one detachment to their primary target, the Mayor's residence. The magnificent building occupied an entire city block. It was a forbidding sight, even with the number of enraged townsfolk gathered. Its fences, made of steel bars, were smothered in thick razorvine, and crossbowmen could be seen on the balconies and in the windows.

"Your masters are dead! Surrender and live!" Kunst had begun the chant, and soon the mob was screaming in unison.

It did not take long for the people inside to realize that it was useless to resist. The front door of the manor opened. Two guards came out and unlocked the gate. The crowd surged forward, nearly trampling those two poor men to death. They then entered the manor and proceeded to turn it inside out. Every drawer was searched for valuables, every bit of clothing was taken, and every piece of gold and silver disappeared into grimy pockets. The house guards, once the town militia had disarmed and searched them, were thrown into the yard where they could not interfere with the orgy of looting that was happening in front of their eyes.

Despite being a bit disappointed that the manor guards had surrendered, the Kadyx was enjoying herself. She proved herself quite useful in bashing open doors and cracking safes—literally. She earned the admiration of the crowd with her feats of physical strength as well as her generosity. She passed her loot down the line, giving everyone a chance to share in the wealth. That wasn't to say that she didn't get her cut. She pocketed a few gold here and there, and she chomped down much of the food she came across. However, her true interests lay elsewhere.

This was a rich man's house, and she had been taught that every rich man fancied himself an intellectual. That meant books, books with potentially useful information about this world. Maps, too. Fortunately for the Kadyx, the entire third floor was one giant library. While the townsfolk set about raiding the wine cellar or tearing apart the bedrooms, she was strolling down aisle after aisle of old books.

After flipping through a few tomes, it became apparent just how daunting her task was. She had obviously come to a world where the book trade was not anywhere near developed. For instance, the _Pietan Chronicle_, a history in seventeen volumes, was missing ten of the volumes. Moreover, books in the same set ranged in condition from near-pristine to half-burned and illegible. Even with the amount of money that he had, Orsi could not afford to be picky. He had to make do with whatever random books landed in his lap.

She picked up a volume in another set, the _History of Rabona_. This one seemed to be in better shape, though it was missing five of its thirty-three volumes. However, it was just as worthless as the previous set. These books were filled with folklore, half-truths, and rumors. The Kadyx moved on to another set of histories, and then another. She found her annoyance ticking up a notch with every page turned. It seemed that in this world, nations or kingdoms did not exist. What it did have were towns and city-states, each with its own founding myth. These myths often contradicted each other too. Every other city claimed to be the first one, favored by such and such god, et cetera, et cetera. It was enough turgid tripe to make the Kadyx's eyes glaze over.

Still, she persisted, hoping to find something that she could use. One book appeared to be stuck. She applied incrementally greater amounts of force, but it did not budge. Finally, she pulled with all her might, ripping it clean off the shelf. The sound it made when it hit the floor indicated that it wasn't a book at all but a block of wood attached to some broken metal bars. A door recessed in the wall slid open.

"Kunst, over here!" the Kadyx called out.

The guard officer hurried up the stairs with a squad of his men. Their mail jangled loudly, and their steps were heavy. Each man strained under a backpack that was stuffed nearly to bursting. "What do we have?"

"Popped the door from the shelf."

"Hold up. Benet, ready your torch. Martin, you stay behind and watch our packs. I'll get the Claymore here to—"

She was already through the doorway and bolting down the stairs, not hampered in the least by the absence of light. Like most magical beasts, the Kadyx was gifted with infravision, which allowed her to see heat. Her sharp ears and nose, as well as her sensitivity to vibrations, also helped her move swiftly quickly and surely in the dark. The stairs spiraled down and down, well below the cellar of the manor. They ended near a set of heavy doors.

The Kadyx pushed the doors open and was instantly stopped in her tracks. She was nearly knocked down by the stench that wafted in from the room. She fought back the initial wave of revulsion to press deeper. This was a dissection room of some sort. The central fixture was a stone table, upon which lay a half-eaten corpse whose rot glowed faintly in the infrared. From what she could tell, most of its internal organs were gone.

"What the hell is that smell—oh." Kunst answered his own question as he brought the torch to bear on the dissection table.

"You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

The thick stone and earth that packed this sub-basement blocked heat signatures, but her ears were as sharp as ever. They weren't alone here. There was a definite sound of breathing coming from somewhere. Putting her ear to the wall, she felt along the mortar and stonework until she came to the right spot. She pounded on it with both fists. A rectangular section of the wall fell out. Another hidden door.

She saw men. And women. And children. Dozens of them, possibly even a hundred, huddled together silently in metal cages. They all stared wide-eyed, terrified at the sight of the Kadyx.

"So that's how they did it," remarked Kunst.

"Hmm?"

"Yoma are yoma. It's in their nature to eat people. It's true they didn't feed on the town, but looks like they imported their meat instead." The man paused to rub his goatee. "Leave them to me. I'll see that they get the help they need."

Reassured, the Kadyx struck a dramatic pose, head in the air and hand outstretched. "Do not fear," she said, "You have been liberated!"


	4. Chapter 3: All the Loss Part I

Project KDX

Chapter 3

Liberation—how sweet the word was as it rolled off her tongue. This was a moment every Legion soldier lived for. From the first day of training, this basic fact was drilled into their heads: the multiverse was composed of exploiters and exploited, and it was the destiny of the latter to crush and eradicate the former. To bring this about, even in such a limited fashion in but a single town, was a concrete step towards the ultimate goal. Parading over the broken flesh of the enemy showered with the cheers of the crowd was the highest triumph imaginable.

The Kadyx felt some of that euphoria as she strolled back to the main plaza to admire her handiwork. In the distance, the yoma's puppet that used to be the captain of the town guard was swinging from the leafless tree. He was a filth-looking codger, and his eyes were forever frozen in a look of terror and disbelief. His tongue, discolored and gorged with blood, hung limply out of his toothless jaw. Elsewhere, houses were being turned inside out. Teams of men hauled off beds and tables. Children sprinted down the streets, their pockets jangling with gold and silver. Estates of the hated yoma were chopped into firewood and set ablaze, and their vassals were put to the sword. She passed a number of headless bodies, their hands and feet bound, littering the street. The sight of it all was almost enough to bring a tear of joy to the Kadyx's eye.

The yoma lay where she felled them, minus noses, eyes, ears, and claws, of course. The townsfolk had been busy taking trophies. One obsessive collector was still poring over the corpses, pushing a cart stocked with jars of embalming fluid. He was so consumed in his work that he nearly ran his cart into the Kadyx. Muttering what sounded like an apology, he turned away and resumed his collecting. The Kadyx considered stopping him to get a few choice words in, but decided to let it go. It was a time for celebration.

There were others still in the plaza. Some wounded men and women were washing their wounds in the fountain. Others were crying over the bodies of their dead relatives. As the Kadyx passed by, the people stared at her with eyes that flashed fear and hate. This was her first liberation, and despite a quick recall of the manuals she had read in training, she did not know exactly how to respond. It was perplexing. This was a day of victory—weren't these people supposed to be happy? "You have been liberated!" she announced.

Some townsfolk snickered, but most paid no attention. The Kadyx wondered if they were hard of hearing.

"You have been liberated!" she announced louder.

"Put a sock in it, Claymore!" a beggarly-looking chap snapped back.

"Yeah!"

One wiry-looking man, well dressed and slightly balding, added, "Haven't you done enough already?" He sighed and returned his attention to a rather plump yet shapely woman who had a bloody bandage wrapped around her head.

Frustration welled up within her. She gritted her teeth and prepared to knock some sense into these people, but at that moment her attention was drawn away. From across the street, she spotted a child, the same child who had fled from her at the riverbank. In an instant, her mood visibly improved. The memory of the sweet flesh of that dog filled her mouth.

The boy scrambled across the cobbled road and entered the plaza, but one sight of the bloodstained Claymore smiling at him and licking her lips froze him in his tracks. In another second, he was bolting back the way he came.

The Kadyx heard a voice behind her call out, "Uwe, no!" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the problem. A wagon, overflowing with sacks of loot and shaking violently, was careening down the road. Its driver was snapping his whip and cursing at the horse, who squealed ever-louder with each lash upon its back.

Upon the sight of the cart, the boy stupidly froze in his tracks. His legs quivered, and he went tumbling to the ground. Cries of "Run! Run!" rang throughout the plaza, but the boy seemed frozen in his place. In an instant, the Kadyx bolted forward. She had a good thirty or forty yards to cover and just a split second to do it. She would not make it in time to pull the kid out.

The Kadyx knew she was tough. Her carapace was impervious to all but the sharpest magical blades, but even in human form something like a horse could barely slow her down. She knew exactly what to do, diving on the boy and covering him with her body. She had just enough time to sink her talons into the road for stability when the cart ran full speed into her.

For all who looked on in horror, the moment of impact seemed to linger as if time had slowed to a crawl. A horse's legs buckled. The wagon jumped. The driver was thrown screaming into the air, along with his loot, which glittered like a thousand little sparks in the afternoon sun. Then in a flash, the horse smashed its head into the pavement, the cart flipped on its side, and the man's scream was cut short by his face-first landing on the side of the road. The landing was hard enough to knock him out instantly—it was probably better that way since the overturned wagon continued sliding on momentum. It slammed into the curb and dumped its remaining contents onto the driver, crushing him.

A few moments passed before the onlookers finally registered what had just occurred. Yes, a man lay pulverized on the pavement, and his horse was dying and probably needed to be put out of its misery. But whatever horror visited the scene quickly subsided, for the plaza was strewn with a cornucopia of gold and silver coinage, as well as pearl and jewel-encrusted finery. The onlookers who had watched with bated breath were soon sucking in great gulps of air as they climbed over one another to snatch their share of good fortune.

A young man charged through the gathering crowd. "Out of the way, grandma!" he cried, using his impressive strength to elbow smaller persons out of his path.

"Fuck you!" the old woman snapped back. She tripped him with her cane, and before he could get back on his feet, he was trampled by dozens of his frenzied fellow looters.

With this teeming mob swarming around her, the Kadyx did her best to keep her head down. It was amazing what a little coin could do to inspire bravery. The townspeople, young and old, beggars and all, were tearing their way to the scene to snatch whatever they could. There were people climbing down from windows with makeshift ropes. They did not pay the Kadyx, still partially buried under the wreckage, any heed. The boy she had saved squirmed a little, seeking to break free of her protective embrace, but she immediately tightened her hold and pinned him to the ground. A child could get hurt that way.

Unexpectedly, the mob of looters drew back. "Order!" came a voice in the distance. "We will have order!"

The Kadyx glanced warily in the direction of the sound, which was closing fast. A squad of armored town guards, swords drawn, was charging to the scene of the accident. The townsfolk gave them a wide berth, more out of fear than respect, but to the Kadyx there was no difference. She stood up from the ground, holding the child tightly by the hand, and greeted the guards with a nod. The man who apparently now ran the show, Melvyn Kunst, stepped out from behind his escort and bowed.

"We are in your debt again, Claymore," he said. "This bastard tried to make off with the town's property, and you stopped him…dead in his tracks. Please, take what you want—you've earned it. Oh, and good job saving the kid." Kunst waved. The child, who had been squirming desperately to pull himself free from the Kadyx's vise-like grip, suddenly froze and hid himself behind the Kadyx's legs. The man frowned.

Looking from side to side, the Kadyx surveyed the nervous gazes of the crowd. It was a dramatic moment, and fortunately for her she had many slogans drilled into her head just for a situation just like this. "This wealth belongs to the people," she announced, sweeping her outstretched arm across the gathered crowd.

Murmurs broke out in the square, and Kunst regarded the Claymore quizzically. "You're a strange one, Claymore. I could've sworn our agreement was for five thousand gold, yet all I've seen you grab are a handful of coins and sack of books."

There was no way she could have seen this coming. This Ophelia, this "Claymore," had been assigned by contract to this city, a contract that she knew nothing about. What could be done? Certainly, she could just take some more gold—carrying a few thousand coins was barely a load to her—but what if this was a trap? What if Kunst had conjured up a figure just to test her knowledge of the contract? She could blow her cover. As a creature of habit, she fell back on what she knew, namely the slogans taken from the Legion's training manuals. "Wealth belongs to the people," she repeated with added emphasis.

It took a while for this non-recognition to register, but the effect could not be any more immediate. There was dissention in the ranks. A number of the guards were displeased, and they showed it by getting up in their commander's face. Fingers were pointed, and voices were raised. However, despite the guards' agitation, the onlookers drew in closer, the prospect of scoring some gold overriding all other thoughts in their heads. Small children crawled on their grimy little hands and knees to the front of the crowd.

Kunst stood still, eyes closed, taking in the rising cacophony of voices. Suddenly, he threw out his arms. "Silence! We are not savages," he proclaimed. Then, to his men, he ordered, "Get these people in line. Everyone is going to get his cut."

This seemed to have the desired effect. The entire plaza broke out in cheers—for Kunst the liberator, Kunst the savior, and for Ophelia the hero. As the Claymore walked away from the scene of the accident holding the boy by the hand, the citizens who had been so snappy with her finally gave her the respect and recognition she deserved. The crowd cleared a path for her. They clapped for her and showered her with praise. For her part, the Kadyx carried her head high with a faint smile on her lips.

Towards the edge of the plaza, two figures pushed their way to the front of the crowd and made a dash for the Kaxyx, or, rather, the boy. She recognized the pair from earlier, that wiry-looking fellow and that woman with the bandaged head. At the sight of them, the child renewed his struggle to free himself. "Mommy! Daddy!" he cried.

"Uwe!" the two adults cried back. Releasing her grip, the Kadyx watched as the three met in a heartfelt embrace. Her work was done, and she was ready to walk away had a voice not stopped her.

"Claymore!" the boy's father called out as he rose to his feet. He was not a very imposing man, but he did his best to convey a sense of dignity. "I am Rody, this town's playwright and I'm in charge of…I run the theater. My wife and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts…no, we cannot thank you enough. Please, if you are looking to rest in town, I invite you to stay at our playhouse, free of charge. It's the least I can do."

The Kadyx nodded.

-:-

Another day, another bath. For such a backring world, she could not quibble about the amenities. For the half century she spent in the Slags, water was too precious a resource to waste on luxuries like bathing. She had learned to survive off the sooty runoff that passed for rain in Sigil, and she had grown accustomed to using her tongue to clean off her hands and feet. On rare occasions she would come upon a portal to the elemental plane of water, which would be her only source of clean water—for as long as they lasted, at least, which usually just a few minutes or less.

Since arriving, she had seen more fresh water than she had seen in her entire life, and here she was taking yet another bath. And it was warm too. Orsi wasn't fooling when he said that his town was rich.

A knock came at the door, snapping her from her thoughts. She did not reply but waited. The door creaked open, just a little bit, and a trembling foot crept in. Slowly, hesitantly, the boy entered the chamber, clutching a folded towel tightly to his chest. He came close, averting his gaze from the Kadyx's nude form.

The Kadyx sat up in the water and patted the boy's head with a sopping wet hand. All this seemed to do was frighten him, and he backed out of the room in a hurry after dropping the towel to the floor. The woman merely shrugged and lay back in the water, to where her head was mostly submerged. She blew a few bubbles, and her mind began to wander once more.

The killing fields of the Blood War, she had left them long ago, but they were as close to her heart as they had always been. She was gifted with a sharp memory, and even now she could evoke the sweet smell of gunpowder and burned flesh. She had been an artillerist once. It was one of many roles she had been expected to perform during her long years of training. There, she put her great strength to use hauling field pieces and ammunition up and down treacherous mountain passes. Her father—her handler—was there every step of the way to guide and inspire her to ever greater levels of excellence.

Once, only a few days into the job, she lost a cart containing most of the company's rations and rigging equipment. The mountain road was slippery from the rain, and everyone was plodding forward carefully at a snail's pace—all except for her. The earth was her element, and she could hardly be fazed by this minor annoyance called the weather. She had boasted to the commander that she would carry the company's supplies and set up a camp near the peak, which would be waiting for them when they arrived.

Her arrogance cost her. As she made her way up the slopes, the pass narrowed and became broken with doglegs. Her feet slushed through the mud and loose rock. All it took was one split second for the entire operation to be dashed to pieces. In trying to power her way through a stuck wheel, her footing and grip slipped. She went face-first into the mud while the cart slid back and disappeared over the edge of a cliff.

Her first instinct was to chase after it. She had to; that base had to go up before the enemy offensive or the left flank of this front would be threatened. The Marshal herself was going to have her head if this screwup cost the Legion its defensive line. Without even bothering to wipe the mud from her eyes, she was preparing to leap over the side when a stern hand shoved her into the mud once more. It was none other than her father, who had been traveling behind her, observing this entire time.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snapped.

"I must—"

"No, no, you don't. Take a look."

She crept to the edge, peered down, and saw the smashed-up cart disappearing into a brackish river hundreds of feet below.

"Are you that desperate to take an acid bath?"

"But our food!"

"They're just supplies. It's not like we can't get more flown in. We'll just have to make do for a couple of days and explain it to the Captain."

"But—"

"There is a time and place for sacrifice. There is no time and place for pissing your life away. What did you hope to accomplish? To pull the cart out before the acid kills you? Our stuff would have already been dissolved by the time you got to it. Do you understand?" By now her father was glaring daggers at her. He rarely grew stern with her, but when he did she knew to shut up and listen.

The Kadyx slowly nodded as the first tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She remembered how she cried that day, seemingly without end. It was the first time she felt like such an utter failure, before her father, before herself, and before the entire Legion. She would never let such a thing happen, ever again.

What was her purpose, now that she was no longer holding down the Sigil beachhead? She hadn't really thought about it much since arriving on this Prime world, but it was time to give it some consideration. If she were going by her orders, what she needed to do was to find her way back to Sigil and retake it. However, she had already been forced out once, and the entire city had been alerted to her presence. If she returned, they would be prepared for her. Sigil was out of the question.

What about the Legion, then? The Legion was the greatest army in all of the planes, and they created her to be their ultimate weapon. She could return home, to the Abyss, muster an invasion force, and retake that rotten city. But again, she had failed. She had failed to hold the position that had been entrusted to her. What would they say when she came back with nothing to show for it? A part of her dreaded even the idea of returning home. However, as she recalled her time on that mountain, she squelched that disquieting thought. Everything was as it must be. That position could not have been held even if she had fought to the death. Surely a great military mind like the Marshal's could understand that.

It was decided. She was going to return home, but how? That was the real question here. Since arriving in this prosperous town, she hadn't seen a hint of magic, much less anyone capable of performing the complex summoning magic involved in creating gates to the outer planes. She could learn to do it herself, she figured, but she would need the proper equipment and materials. Magic was the one skill that was left out of her training. Her thick hide could deflect all but the most powerful spells, and that was good enough for battle. What was the point of taking a minute to put together a spell when she could cut an enemy to ribbons with a single swipe of her claw? Were it not for the cantrips that her father taught her in between classes, she would be completely bereft of any arcane ability. Despite this, she was always a quick learner and was fairly confident she could pick up the skills needed for any mission. Perhaps there was some device like the planar scythes that the Legion used to cut paths between planes. There were many ways she could go about this.

For now, though, there was much work to be done here. In order to get the resources she needed, she would have to learn about this world and its ways. And there was no better time to start than now.


	5. Chapter 4: All the Loss Part II

Project KDX

Chapter 4

The Kadyx liked Rody and his family well enough. After half a century of pest extermination in the Slags, some friendly faces for once went a long way. She ate dinner with them that night—not that she needed to, but she figured it would be a good opportunity to pick their brains for some information. Of course, there was a flaw in this plan. Although the Kadyx understood the basic concepts of intel work, she was nowhere near as skilled as she believed herself to be. She was also a lot less articulate than she sounded in her head, and her planar accent made her hosts strain their ears to listen. For much of the time, Rody and his family nervously nodded and smiled, dreading what this apparent madwoman would do if they ever got on her bad side.

She spoke of things which they didn't even know how to even begin to understand. In stiff, halting tones, the Kadyx related stories of other planes of existence, populated by fantastical beings and mighty armies. And war. War was what the Kadyx lived for, and Rody lost count of how many times his guest ended statements with "and the Enemy was crushed." Who or what this Enemy was, he hadn't the faintest clue. They had something to do with a place called "Ba-a-tor," but damned he knew what the hells that was.

On the Kadyx's end, the night was frustrating beyond compare. Judging by their blank expressions, none of her hosts had an inkling of what lay beyond this material world. And, by the looks of it, they were on the verge of being scared shitless by all this talk which must have come across as very bizarre. In her agitated state, the Kadyx filled the awkward silences with more of her war stories.

Unexpectedly, it was Rody who bailed this conversation out by turning it back onto the Kadyx. "So," he asked a bit nervously, "Claymore, do you know who hired you?"

"The town did." She did her best to look confident.

"Orsi and his group controlled the town's funds before you came along. Somehow I don't think you were hired with public money."

"Then Kunst. He mentioned my payment."

"Yes…Kunst." Rody paused, as if pondering his next words carefully. "Claymore, did you ever ask yourself who has the most to gain by getting rid of Orsi?"

"The people," she replied without hesitation.

"Yes, but which people?"

"Orsi was a slaver. A parasite who exploited this town."

The pure hatred that was rolling off this woman's tongue gave Rody cause for alarm. In the space of a few seconds, she had gone from clumsy and weird to frothing at the mouth. Obviously this was something he had to tiptoe around. "Orsi," he began, "was a monster, but not all monsters look the part."

"You defend him?"

"Heavens, no. He's threatened me and my family more times than I can count. Do you know why I'm even here? This was my father's playhouse, but the old man lost the deed to Orsi and was forced to serve him for the remainder of his miserable days. I was born into his debt. Believe me, there's no love lost between me and that fat bastard Orsi. However, I must tell you that for every Orsi, there are a dozen others just waiting to take his place."

"If they become the Enemy, they die."

Rody felt a shiver go down his spine. The answer was so decisive, so unthinking, as if it had been rehearsed to the point of becoming instinct. While it was fairly certain that she did not work for Kunst, or anyone for that matter, what he had in his home was a veritable force of nature—aloof, unyielding, and serving no will but her own.

Just what was he getting himself into?

-:-

Luxury was a funny thing. While fresh water and clean air were always welcome, there were certain things that landed just outside the Kadyx's comfort zone. The contraption called the "bed" was one of those things. Her nights in the Legion were spent curled up on the ground or at the bottom of the mud-filled trench. She was a creature of earth, and, as such, she felt comfort in the earth's embrace. To be near the earth was to be one with every pulse and reverberation of the all-giver of life—and it had the benefit of alerting her to every approaching danger. This feeling of being snuggled up in billowing sheets and padding, deadening the senses of her skin and body, just did not sit right with her. She tossed and turned for quite some time before she gave up and rolled onto the floor. The last few days had been enjoyable, but ever-so-exhausting. It wasn't long before she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

The next morning, she was awakened by noises coming from the floor. There was a heated argument downstairs in the lobby, and with the way she was lying down, the cacophony was headed straight into her ear. Feeling a bit annoyed but also rather curious, she clambered to her feet and sauntered out of the guest room and down the hall to eavesdrop. She crawled to the edge of the staircase and peered surreptitiously towards the scene that was unfolding.

"This is fucking bullshit!" shrieked a redheaded woman. Everything about this woman's attire was prim and proper, from her aristocratic vestments to her neatly-pinned hair, but she was inches from Rody's face and practically snarling at him.

"Now, Margit, calm down!" As much as Rody was trying to control the situation, it was clear that he was nearing the end of his wits.

"Who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and cannot say? This is my fucking company, my team!"

"Margit, please! Not in front of Ella and Uwe!" Rody's wife was cowering in the corner, covering her son's ears with her plump little hands.

"I don't fucking care! We're at the end of our rope. Orsi may have been a shit, but at least he let us do theater. And now that he's gone Kunst has the deed. That crass son of a bitch is going turn this place into a burlesque joint! I can already see it. He's been trying to move in on that whoreson fuck Michel's business for years."

"Look, I have the script nearly done. I know this'll be a hit. I just know it. If we can just show this town what we can do, they'll have no choice but to keep us."

"You sound desperate, Rody. I'm not sticking around and waiting for a 'maybe.' I'm taking my players and getting the hell out while we still can."

"And go where? Name me one playhouse within a hundred miles that is as well equipped as ours. Hell, name one that can even deserve to be called a playhouse."

For once, the woman fell silent.

"Uh-huh. Thought so. Now, we'll need at least a week to get the costumes and sets ready, as well as practicing the script. It shouldn't be—"

"This might be news to you, but Kunst has the deed. He can do whatever the hell he wants to us, long before we even get a chance—"

"He won't try anything."

"How do you know?"

"He won't try anything as long as we have that Claymore with us."

"What? You brought her here? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"I will get this deed for you."

Everyone turned to the top of the stairs, where the Kadyx, half-naked and groggy, was standing.

"What?" Rody remarked with genuine surprise.

"I will get this deed for you," the Kadyx repeated as she made her way down the steps. Her mouth was gaping from yawns.

"You would do this, for me? For us?"

"Sounds important. I try." She moved towards the exit only to be stopped by Rody's voice.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

That's right. She had a role to play. She was the Claymore, that exterminator that was hired to take care of this town's yoma problem. She couldn't rightly head out there in her underwear. Rody's wife Ella hurried into a back room and reappeared moments later with a Claymore uniform. It was the same uniform that had been showered with buckets of yoma blood yesterday, but now it was restored to its pristine white. The metal pauldrons had been polished to a mirror-like sheen.

After donning her uniform she headed for the exit again, only to be stopped again.

The sword. Of course. The Claymore's sword was supposed to be the very essence of their identity, seeing how they were called Claymores to begin with. Even if she preferred to fight with her teeth and claws, the sword was a necessary part of her cover that she could not under any circumstances leave behind. She ran up the stairs to her sleeping quarters and retrieved the massive blade from under the bed and prepared to head out again.

This time, it was she who felt that she was missing something. What could it be? She scratched her head and paced back and forth a few times.

"Question."

"Yes?"

"What's a deed?"

She could hear Margit sobbing.

-:-

Melvyn Kunst was a man with plans. He had fought and scrapped for every two-bit advantage that he had gotten out of life, and he wasn't about to let up now. He had seen his three brothers destroyed by that bastard Orsi, but in the end the Kunst family had its sweet, sweet revenge. Melvyn, the youngest, the throwaway sent to either join the town guard or the church, had surprised them all, worming his way up the ranks until the Kunsts had control of the largest armed force in the town. And when the moment was right, he swooped in to snatch up everything.

This town was as good as his. Sure, there were other powerful families with their guards and their businesses, but he had ways of dealing with them. He knew those fuckers better than they knew themselves. From his years spent in the guard, he had amassed a mountain of dirt on every one of his would-be challengers, and they knew that fact. They would not risk openly opposing him unless they wanted every bastard child, every perversion, and every crime they committed strutted out in full public view.

The only unknown variable in all of his calculations was that Claymore. He had hired her to get rid of his Orsi problem, and that part of the plan went off without a hitch. If only she had taken her five thousand gold and gotten out of his hair. Instead she had to stick around and play social crusader. He had asked this shadowy Claymore organization for their most bloodthirsty and ruthless warrior, and they did that in spades. However, this bloodthirsty and ruthless warrior was also a muttonheaded cretin who apparently desired nothing more than to bask in the affection of beggars and snot-faced brats.

But he had plans. Yes, he did, because that's what he always did: make plans. And sitting at his desk in his study, where his best plans were hatched, he should have been set to formulate a brilliant plan to deal with that Claymore. He would have, that is, if he weren't getting an earful from his wife Angela.

"Don't you 'Angie, Angie' me, mister! You promised that you'd buy me those new curtains, and what do I see? You're out there giving our hard-earned money away!"

Goddamn. That woman's voice was like nails on a chalkboard, screechy and nasal at the same time. How he wished sometimes that he'd never hear that voice again. He only married her because she was a good fuck anyway. That and he needed her to secure an alliance with that flaky Preis family. "You don't understand," he cooed in the most soothing tone he could muster. He knew from experience that he was treading on thin ice; any hostility from him at this stage, and she wouldn't be able to calm down for days. "That Claymore. She works the crowd. If I didn't dole out _some_ of our gold, we'd have a riot on our hands."

"Claymore this, Claymore that. You know what I heard? That Claymores can't touch humans or they'll face a death penalty. How can a brave, strong man like you be cowed by a little girl who can't even hurt you?"

"Believe me, I'm not concerned about that. What I'm concerned about is her ability to work the crowd. She undermines what I've been doing getting this town on my side for the past decade. A good word here, a bribe there—every little bit of support I have was painstakingly earned, and I can't have this Claymore mucking things up. She'll be gone eventually, but I can't let her turn this town against me in the meantime. Please, understand."

"I understand that you are giving our money away!"

"Look, how many times have I bribed my way up? You were at my side this whole time, so you should know. Think of this as a mass bribe. We're bribing the townsfolk so that they won't turn against us. We sacrifice a little money, we get their support. They may even fight for us."

"A mass bribe…" The gears were turning in her head as her frown slowly changed into a grin. "I like the sound of that."

"Trust me, I have a plan."

"You always do, dear." Angela moved to her husband's lap and drew him into a lingering kiss. She really wasn't so bad if one knew how to manage her trantrums, and she was fiercely loyal. What more could a man realistically ask for?

As husband and wife were deep in the throes of necking, a loud knocking came at the door, accompanied by a frantic voice. "Sir! Sir! You must come out here immediately!"

Melvyn Kunst sighed. Just when he thought he was about to get some sweet, sweet nookie from his trophy wife, some shit had to come up. His wife looked rather disappointed. He lifted her to her feet, gave her a peck on the cheek, and went to door to greet his visitor. "You came at a bad time kid. Make this worth it."

"Y-yes, you see, at the front gate, she—she"

"Just spit it out, damn you."

"The Claymore, she's here!"

"What did you say?"

"She's here, in the antechamber."

"Do you know why?"

"She'll only talk to you."

Great. When an enemy steps into your house, it can only mean that some serious shit was about to go down. It was time to get his game face on. He straightened his collar, put on a bright smile, and went down to greet his visitor. The Kadyx, for her part, looked positively radiant. The trained professionals of Rody's playhouse had given her look a workover. With her uniform cleaned and starched and her bob neatly combed and cropped, she had transformed from the image of a wild woman to looking like the very model of a disciplined Claymore warrior. Apparently Melvyn Kunst was not the only one capable of bringing a game face.

"Greetings, friend, what brings you here?"

"I want to talk."

"Come, let's take this inside." A couple of the guards wanted to follow the Claymore, but Kunst waved them off with a stern glare. He led the Kadyx into the main dining room, where they took seats at the main table. "And here we are. You like it?"

Indeed, this dining room was like none the Kadyx had seen before. Not even what she had seen in Orsi's mansion could compare. From its graceful staircases, to its airy balconies and iron columns, this room was built to showcase the spectacle of dining. A silver chandelier dangled from the ceiling, above a giant horseshoe-shaped table. Servants would cart food into the middle and serve the guests from the inside. In her training, they had always told her to avoid these open spaces, these spaces that had no cover and could draw fire from almost every angle imaginable. She was visibly disturbed and her eyes darted up and down, back and forth along the walls and walkways.

"Have you been rendered speechless? I take pride in my décor, but should I be taking this as a compliment?"

"It's impressive. Can we talk, now?"

"Ahh, yes, that. What is it you need?"

"The deed to the playhouse. Was Orsi's, now yours. Rody needs it."

"And did he ask you to make this social call?"

"It was my will."

Blast. Kunst suppressed a grunt of frustration, but that didn't stop his fist from shaking. "Deed…deed…" he whispered to himself, buying himself some few seconds to think before continuing, "well, before that, may I ask you a question, Claymore?"

The Kadyx did not give a response, but he took it as a sign to proceed.

"As a Claymore, it's obviously not your job to deal with these trifling mortal matters, but I must ask, what are your feelings on property?"

Again the woman was silent. She merely sat back in her chair and folded her arms under her breasts.

It took all of Kunst's nerves to just keep it together. The bitch was testing him, he just knew it. She was waiting for him to make his first move. His next words could very easily determine his fate, as well as the town's. "Yes, property. I'm sure you're well aware of how Orsi ran this town. He owned it, and he saw to do with it as he fit. So…things will be different from now on. I've handed over much of Orsi's ill-gotten gains to the town. The deed, along with the deeds to many of Orsi's properties, has been turned over to the council and now sits in the courthouse awaiting deliberations. Our goal is to publicly administer these properties in a democratic fashion that serves the citizens of our fair community.

"Then I'll go to the courthouse."

"I'm sorry, Claymore, but the courthouse is actually closed today. Tell you what, tomorrow we'll go down there together and get this sorted out. I can't guarantee that the council will release the deed to you, but I'm sure that if both of us make our case, we can secure a deal that will give Rody and his people dominant stake in the playhouse's operations.

The Claymore weighed her options and nodded. This was acceptable. She shook hands with Kunst and excused herself. She didn't know what to tell Rody, but it was clear that she wasn't going to get any further without resorting to violence, something that she had been explicitly forbidden to do. Why did things have to be so complicated here? She came simply to get a document, but instead she was asked useless questions that she knew nothing about. The only thing she could do was to play along with this bureaucratic runaround and hope that an opportunity would present itself. Kunst thus far seemed reasonable enough, but she had a nagging feeling he was not being completely up front with her.

She shook these thoughts from her head as she made her way back. It was late afternoon now, and the sun was beginning to descend over the western mountains. The handsome white masonry of the town became ensconced in a warm red glow. Workers began scurrying about, cleaning up trash and lighting the streetlamps. This was a town that didn't sleep, at least not where the Kadyx found herself, which just happened to be the red light district. There, she saw a scene that boiled her blood.

A group of men were standing in front of Michel's club, locked in a heated argument. The Kadyx moved in to observe, hiding herself behind a street corner. There were two groups of three or four burly enforcer-types crowding around a guy who was probably the owner of the club.

She recognized one of the men as Benet, one of Kunst's guards. He and the others in his squad were dressed in the blue uniforms of the town guard. "No, you don't get to make that demand. We have the merchandise here, not you!"

"Michel has a contract to buy girls from us. It doesn't matter how close he is to your group. It doesn't matter how many sisters he marries into the Kunst family. We have an exclusive contract, and if this contract is broken, the Amani family will not forget about it!" The other side wore red suits and seemed more like businessmen than fighters, but they were no less intimidating.

"Guys, guys, I'm still here. Look, I'm sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. Just hear me out. The Kunsts have the goods, but I'm obligated to buy from the Amanis, so why don't you sell to the Amanis so that I can buy it from them. Afterwards, we can work something out about splitting the profits."

"This mangy bitch? She ain't worth more than ten gold."

"You cunts! You—"

"Now, now, Benet. Let me take a look and give a professional appraisal that can hopefully all agree on."

The group of men backed off somewhat to let Michel do his work. The item they had been bickering over this whole time was revealed—a young girl of maybe fourteen or fifteen. She was on the ground with arms and legs chained. The Kadyx recognized her. She was one of the prisoners she had rescued from Orsi's dungeon. There was no doubt now that this was a slave auction. In all of the multiverse, there was perhaps nothing more anathema to Legion than slavery. The Legion had been founded in a slave rebellion, and many of its finest heroes, including the Marshal herself, had lived as slaves. The legion was a cesspool of every misfit, every anarchist, every miscreant to raise a grimy fist against society, molded into a hammer of fanatical ideology, ready to smash whatever they saw as an oppressor. Slavers topped the list of those marked for death, even trumping pederasts and the hated baatezu, though it certainly helped that there were plenty of slavers in the ranks of the latter two.

Michel was entranced with his new toy. Prying apart the girl's lips, he remarked, "Nice teeth." With his other hand, he reached into her shirt and began fondling his way up her torso. She reacted by trying to bite his finger, but he managed to just pull it back in time. "Tch. We got a biter." He wagged his finger at her and proceeded to backhand her to the ground. It was only then that he noticed the Kadyx, who had been watching the scene unfold from just a few yards away.

"Kunst said he would help her."

"Why are you so interested, Claymore?" the whoremaster snapped back.

"Kunst said he would help."

Benet chimed in. "And we are. We're putting her in gainful employment for a period of indenture. After a period of three years, she will be released with resident status in our fair community."

"You are slavers."

"Is that true? Did you guys hear that? No? You must be imagining things, Claymore. All the business we conduct with Michel is completely above board and in accordance with the laws of this town. The law clearly states the provisions regarding terms of indenture."

"The Enemy hides behind words and paper."

This time it was Michel who was getting annoyed. "Hey, this ain't your business, girlie. Unless you want to take this runt's place in my club."

"You release her."

"Or what? You half-devil bitches can't even touch us humans."

The Kadyx reached out and gave him a light push that sent him back a couple of inches. He was at first stunned and perplexed, but his eyes became wide as saucers as he slowly realized what was about to happen. Before anyone could react, he was already reeling from a punch straight into his mouth.

"How dare you!" he coughed while spitting out teeth.

The Kadyx responded with a cross, only with an open palm. Striking at his face, she lodged her thumb in the man's eye socket, while the rest of her talons dug into the side of his head. The other men had their hands on their blades and looked ready to step in, but this gave them pause. She had a hostage.

Too bad the Legion never took hostages. While controlling the man's head, she led him to the side of the street. She then kicked out his knee and followed up by driving his skull into the curb. Giblets of brain and pulverized bone went flying for yards in every direction.

The Legion taught that chaos was a normal part of the battlefield. Training was for the most part unscripted, and soldiers were taught to live in the heat of battle. The instinct to panic at the loss of control was thoroughly beaten out of their heads. For primedwellers who had not endured crawling through blood-filled trenches under a sky of bursting shrapnel, it was perfectly natural to choke when the unexpected occurred. The guards and enforcers spent several seconds taking in what had just happened, and that was enough time for the Kadyx to begin her work.

She charged the nearest enemy, one of the redsuits, pinning his sword hand with her own and using the other to rip his jaw clean off. As the man let out a death wail of gurgling blood, she shoved him into the man behind him. They went crashing to the ground, and the Kadyx finished them off by drawing her sword and running them both through. However, she had struck too hard, and the weapon became lodged in the road. This was a lapse, but one she was willing to live with. Seeing an opening, two of the guards leapt at the Kadyx. She managed to deflect one of their blows by angling her pauldron against an overhead attack, and she then pivoted around her attacker's body and grappled him, using him as a human shield. She then disarmed him by tearing off his hand along with the sword. His cries of agony were cut short as he was decapitated by his own weapon.

The attackers then started to turn tail and run. This monster had just chewed through half of them, and they weren't about to stick around to try their chances. Onlookers from various clubs and restaurants, who came out to see what the commotion was about, also ran for their lives. The entire street was in a panic. Fleeing civilians were pushed over and trampled by people even more desperate to flee.

And in the middle of it all, there was the Kadyx, standing quietly in this swirling cauldron of panic. Even though she reveled in chaos, she never once lost sight of her goal. She went to the slave girl and broke her chains. However, instead of thanking her liberator, she let out a bloodcurdling scream and dashed away.

The Kadyx shrugged and sighed. Apparently this was a strange and complicated land. Was she losing her touch? One quick look at her handiwork was all she needed to answer that doubt. She was becoming a lot more adept at fighting in her humanoid form. It may have lacked the raw power of her tarrasque body, but it gave her the agility and precision to bob and weave among her opponents. What she had adopted merely as a disguise was becoming a part of her being. It was an odd feeling, but she rather liked it.

What she didn't like was the smell of trash filling her nostrils. She was astounded by how much trash there was. Really, for a town with such clean air and water, it was nothing short of a disgrace that the people here smelled so much like booze and infectious diseases.

But what's this? She heard the sound of movement about half a block away. It was one of the guards. He had obviously fallen down in his attempt to escape and was trampled, but that wasn't what interested her. This one smelled nice, and she was overdue for a snack.

At the sight of the blood-soaked woman shambling towards him, the guard tried to run away, but his legs were so paralyzed with fear that he couldn't get them to work. He crashed to the cobblestones and was pinned down by the Kadyx's powerful grip. His whole body was wracked by fear. He sweat, he trembled, and his breaths grew short and shallow.

The Kadyx licked his face. The guard may have been big, but he was obviously still just a boy, as he was only beginning to grow a beard. This would do nicely. She smiled at him, revealing two rows of extended, razor-sharp teeth.

"No! No! Noooooaoaaaaugrrhhhkk—"

-:-

Nailbiting was a habit that Melvyn Kunst thought he had stopped in grammar school. He had worked far too long to be outmaneuvered by this upstart bitch of a Claymore. What did she mean it was her idea to get the deed? Was she thinking of making a bid for power? She couldn't be that devious, could she?

Well, obviously not, he reassured himself. He had just pulled off the acting job of the century. Public property, what a laugh. He still had the deed, along with the deed to the rest of Orsi's properties, safely locked away in his office. Ordinarily he wouldn't hand over a damn thing to the trash of this town, but sometimes one had to take a step back in order to take two steps forward.

He would have to prepare a small folder of documents to transfer to the courthouse, sneak it in before it opened tomorrow, and bribe the other members of the town council. He could even make good on his assurance that Rody would have a controlling stake in the playhouse. Something like thirty or forty percent would fit the bill. The Claymore couldn't complain, and once she was gone he could proceed with plans to turn the playhouse into a casino. He would have the council and the weight of public opinion behind him. Yes, he knew these degenerates better than they knew themselves. They would all crawl over each other to get a cut from any vice den that popped up.

As he sat in his study, with his quill and parchment ready to record his latest masterful plan, his loyal guard Benet burst through the door. Kunst's initial reaction was one of extreme frustration and annoyance, but upon seeing the man's blood splattered uniform, he knew this was serious.

"God! God! They're dead! They're all dead!"

"What? Who's dead?"

"Michel. Martin. Amanis. Dead. Dead!"

A wail came from the doorway. His wife had collapsed to the ground sobbing. Michel was her brother, and even though they were never very close, family was family in the end. He rushed to her side, holding her tight as she drenched his shirt in his tears. "Benet, who did this? Tell me!"

"It's the Claymore! She's gone insane. She's gonna kill us all!"

"How is this possible? Claymores aren't allowed to kill humans!"

"I don't know! God! God! She got Bily too, I just know it!"

"What? Bily? Are you certain?"

"I didn't see. We were running away together, and then he was gone—goddamn!" Benet curled up into a ball and started gibbering incoherently.

Kunst found tears welling in his eyes. One would think that after years of stepping over bodies to get ahead, he would have been more jaded, but Bily was special. His dead older brother loved that bastard kid more than anything, and Melvyn Kunst had promised to take care of him. This wasn't insanity on the part of that Claymore. She was issuing him a declaration of war.


	6. Chapter 5: All the Loss Part III

Project KDX

Chapter 5

The Amanis, the Preises, the Kunsts—these vassals and underlings in the time of the yoma had been at each other's throats for generations. However, this night, these powerful families, together with hundreds of their supporters, had gathered at the iron gates of the Kunst Estate awaiting an announcement that was sure to shake their world to its roots. However, as the minutes wore on, curses were heard being directed at the new de facto lord of the town, Melvyn Kunst, even from the Kunst family's own guards. Tempers began to flare; rivals jostled with one another, exchanging insults and elbows. Many had just heard of the riot in the town center, and, with little additional information, suspicions ran high. The crowd was growing restless.

Of course, it was all part of Melvyn Kunst's master plan, something that he had concocted in the midst of grief and fury but no less brilliant to him than anything he had realized before. In times like these, the people needed a unifier, someone they could look to enforce the peace. From inside his estate, he watched the unruly mob before his gates and waited…and waited some more. Finally, when the time was right, he took his sobbing wife by the hand and opened the balcony door.

"My people!" he cried as he marched to the railing. He waited for a moment for the hush to settle in over the crowd. "My people! I have called you tonight because a terrible injustice has been perpetrated in our fair town! Many of you have seen or heard of the rioting that just occurred. No doubt you have heard rumors. No doubt you want answers."

"So give them to us!" a random heckler shouted, only to be immediately beaten into submission by a gang of house guards…all according to plan.

"Lay off! Do not touch him!" commanded Kunst. "This town stands at the edge of a precipice, and that's why we need help from everyone to see this through. We didn't liberate this town just to throw it away to a dog." He paused again to build up the crowd's expectations. "The dog I'm talking about is that bitch Claymore."

Putting his hand around his Angela's waist and drawing her close, he continued over his wife's muffled sobs. "Let it out, Dear. They need to see. We have suffered an outrage. Only hours ago, the Claymore killed—murdered—in cold blood, an entire coterie of Armani retainers and my own men, along with our respected citizen Michel Preis and my own nephew Bily Kunst. My men, at great risk to themselves, have recovered what remains of them, and, by the laws of the town, I will return them to you as I speak. Guards! Open the gates!"

As the heavy iron bars creaked open, a slow procession of the town's nobility trickled into the courtyard, to meet the Kunst guards who were laying blood-soaked stretchers out on the grass. There was the silver-haired matriarch Elnora Preis, who rode on a stately divan carried by her servants. Acilo, the young prince of the Armani household, came well armed with an entire team of his assassins, the Dirks. Rarely were they ever seen out of the shadows, but as the Armanis and the Kunsts had never been on the best of terms, they were taking no chances.

"I warn you," said Kunst, "that what you are about to see will shock you."

Elnora Preis directed one of her servants to lift up the cloth covering her son's corpse. One look at the coagulated clabber where the man's skull used to be, and she was out light a light. Her servants set the divan down and desperately began attempting to revive her. The Armanis had a greater stomach for blood, but even some of the assassins seemed visibly ill their masks.

"I know some of you were under the impression that Claymores are forbidden to attack humans. Well, that's clearly not the case. You have all seen this monster tearing through the yoma, and you can see her handiwork turned upon us. The evidence is clear as day. As for my own nephew Bily, we only managed to recover a pair of bloody boots with his feet still inside." Kunst clenched the railing until his knuckles became white. Although this, too, was a part of his plan, it was not an act. "It ate him. It ate him just like cattle for the yoma."

Gasps made their way around the crowd. Petty rivalries may have sowed discord earlier, but what drove it now was pure terror.

"Are you saying we should fight this Claymore?" screamed a voice.

"That's crazy!" shouted another.

"We should hide!"

Acilo Armani, who had been kneeling down in prayer, slowly rose to his feet, turned to face the crowd, and silenced them with an accusing cry of "Cowards! Cowards!"

Kunst waved his hands. "Please, calm yourselves! I hear some of you talking about waiting for this to blow over. Not a bad thought. Claymores are said to be nomads. Sadly, this isn't the case. You know what happened just before the riot? This Claymore came to me and demanded the deed to the playhouse. Some of you may say that I should just give up my property. Again, if this were the case, I would agree. In fact, let the record show that I did agree to turn over the playhouse to public ownership, opened to everyone including her. But how did this monster respond? By going on a murder spree. What we have worked to build in this town for generations, it seeks to control through terror! Will we bow down to terror?"

A few voices rose up. "No!"

"She comes for the playhouse, and then she goes after our businesses, and then our families those who work for us. Where will it end? How long will it be before this beast comes for your shops and loved ones? If we don't rise up now, when we are still strong, she will destroy us and feast on our bones. Yes, we have seen what this Claymore can do, but did we not kill yoma ourselves when we liberated this town? Together we are strong!"

He had turned the corner. His audience's morale was beginning to crest like a wave, and Kunst could feel the energy flowing into him. It was time to deliver the finisher. "Ancilo Armani! I know our families haven't been on the best of terms over the years, but I swear upon the honor of my ancestors that if we see this through, I will be generous and equitable in our dealings. The town's wealth should be here for us all."

Then, turning his head towards the assembled masses, he swept his hand over them in an arc. "That goes for everyone out there. It is time to separate the men from the chaff. So raise your armies. You'll be well-paid, you'll be well-armed, and, at the end of it, the bitch cunt will be dead!"

-:-

On the other side of town, Rody had spent an entire evening trembling. Only hours before, his spirits had been cautiously lifted by the Claymore's promise of retrieving the deed. However, when this Ophelia returned to the playhouse covered in blood, he knew it was over. People would soon be coming for his head. Immediately he set about preparing for departure that very night—or, rather, he spent his time gibbering incoherently while his wife Ella and his band of players frantically threw what they could into an open wagon. The Kadyx, for her part, helped out immensely and even managed to put new wheels on the wagon. No one quite understood what her deal was, but they were beyond caring at this point. They just had to get out.

They had just finished packing when they heard a rumbling outside. They had expected some kind retaliation, but not on this scale. It seemed that the entire town was rising against them as several massive columns converged upon them. Their shiny new weapons, provided by the noble houses, glinted in the ominous glow of their torches.

"Come on! Hurry it up!" Margit was seated in the driver's position, her hands clutching the reins. "We need to go. Now!"

"Wait," came the worried voice of Ella. "Where's Uwe! Uwe!"

The players watched as the torchlights drew closer, step by step. Some of the mob broke away from the pack and began charging at them in a full run.

"Now, fuckers, now!"

"But our son!"

"No time!"

"But—"

The flames bursting over the playhouse cut that argument short. The advance guard of the armed mob had thrown lit oil bottles into the building. "Noooooo!" screamed Rody.

Ella just stood frozen in shock.

Although she did not quite understand why this was happening, the Kadyx saw that these people were not going to be of any help in the fight. She dragged the husband and wife to the wagon and threw them on top of it. Without even needing a cue, Margit set the horses to a full gallop.

Now that the distractions had been removed, the Kadyx could concentrate on the task at hand. What she saw were a few hundred at least, possibly more than a thousand, trying to set up a cordon around the playhouse. A few siege engines were in the distance being loaded with flaming shot, but, for the most part, these people were lightly armed. Hardly a challenge. However, given what had driven her out of Sigil, she learned to never underestimate the ingenuity of mortals. She made a few probing maneuvers towards the skirmish line of arsonists, and this was enough to send them running back to the safety of the mob for now. She drew her sword, brandished it in a mid-guard, and scanned her opponents. She was searching for leaders. As the Legion's secret weapon, she had been taught to seek the most high-value targets in an enemy formation, to sow chaos and disrupt any attempt to regain control over the ranks.

At least, that was what she intended to do if it were not for the voice she was hearing from the burning playhouse. It was faint and below ground, and try as she might, she could not ignore it. Even as her mind was preparing for battle, she recalled that her hosts had mentioned something about the kid being missing. As a soldier she hated to abandon a fight, but then again the kid did provide her with her first real meal in this world. What a fine meal it was! Her gaze turned from the mob to the playhouse and back to the mob and back to the playhouse and—sadly, the mob would have to wait.

Onlookers were baffled as they saw the Claymore flee headlong into the flames. They had braced themselves for a tough fight and had hoped to drive the Claymore into the fire, but to do that job for them was the mark of a madwoman. Still, they couldn't complain and just doused the playhouse with more incendiaries.

All around her, the building was disintegrating. Bit by bit, beam by beam, it was collapsing. Of course, the Kadyx had nothing to fear from fire or falling debris. Her tanar'ri blood and her tarrasque's hide made it so. Still, the same could not be said for the child she was searching for. She heard the dull sounds of thumping and crying coming from the cellar. There was no time to search for the stairs, which were probably on fire by now. Extending her claws, she slashed at the floor until it gave way, and she tumbled through, landing flat on her face. Little Uwe, who had been futilely trying to force the trapdoor to the basement open, just stood there with his eyes wide as saucers. This woman still terrified the shit out him. Up until now, he hadn't even been able to muster up the courage to actually speak to her. But, he was about to die, and that fact alone could reorder someone's priorities pretty quickly.

"Momma and Poppa?" he asked. "Take me to Momma and Poppa!"

Spitting out a mouthful of dirt, the Kadyx picked herself off the ground. "Gone."

"I want Momma and Poppa!"

The woman had to think for a moment. Yes, she could go back topside, take on the cordon, and open a path to catch up to the players. The chance of doing that while tugging this little thing along, however, was next to none. She could take the hits, but him? Just look at his tiny, soft fleshiness. Wasn't going to happen. She hated backing down from a fight, but she also remembered that day on the mountain path, when her own hubris saw her company's supplies disappear into a river of acid. She would not lose cargo like that again, and this was precious cargo indeed.

"Enemies. Hundreds outside."

The kid's lips quavered, and water welled in his eyes. In between sobs, he cried, "We're gonna die! We're gonna die!"

"Come with me."

With that, the Kadyx did the one thing she did better than anyone: she began to dig.

-:-

Melvyn Kunst rode down the street on horseback wearing a shitfaced grin as he waved to his people. Marking off his mental checklist of twats, retards, and degenerates, he had only one feeling in his heart, and that was love for his people. They had rallied to him, they had trusted him, and, with a bit of luck, they managed to kill that cunt without losing a single man. Life was great, and he was making more money than ever. He even got the old brothel to re-open as the Michel Preis Memorial Lounge under joint Preis-Armani management. And, of course, he had the lucrative business of supplying the whores, err, indentures to staff that joint.

It was a month to the day since the operation that brought down the Claymore. Although they never found any body in the debris, it was apparently common knowledge that Claymores dissolved into energy when they died. After all, no one has ever reported seeing a Claymore corpse. The town was certainly on edge for quite some time, but as days turned into weeks without even the slightest peep to disturb the peace, people genuinely grew to accept the fact that the Claymore was dead. And to celebrate this he was hosting a banquet for the other noble families and their retainers. Truly, life was good.

As the head Kunst entered his estate, he caught his head chef milling about in the garden. Ordinarily, he would have chewed him out, but these days he was in such a good mood and had to keep up such a pleasant image for his adoring public that he couldn't afford to. "Hey, now, my good man," he said, tipping his feathered fedora, "Is everything ready? We wouldn't want to disappoint our new friends."

Despite the tone, the chef understood the meaning of the message. He hurried into the house, charged into the kitchen, and started barking out orders to a staff already run ragged.

"What do you mean we're out of preserves?" he snarled at a young servant while dragging him by the ear.

"There ain't nothing left!"

"How do 5 years' worth of preserves just disappear?"

"Ow ow ow! I don't know! I ain't been here that long!"

"Just find some more, you little nancy boy!"

The chef released his grip, sending the servant on his way. To no one in particular, the boy quipped, "Y'all crazy for working this shit. Fucking fatass."

"I heard that, you little faggot!" The older man made a motion to give chase, but there was no way that was actually going to work. But he was going to tell Kunst, and that little bastard would be fired. That kid was clearly lying or blind. If he wanted something done right, he would have to do it himself. Taking a deep breath, he headed into the cellar.

He was going to prove that little bastard wrong. Past the wine, past the cheeses, in the darkest, deepest recesses of the cellar were where the preserves were, and that little bedwetter probably never even got far enough to see them in the first place.

Before long, he had reached the end, but to his surprise, there truly were no preserves left. How odd. Even the jars were gone. It was like they were never there in the first place. How was this even possible? He looked around for clues. There was more dirt on the floor here than he remembered, and they seemed to lead somewhere, towards the section of the wall that had collapsed earth coming out of it. Was that here before? It was a fairly big breach, but it was also pretty well plugged up. He could hear a faint scratching on the other side. Rats, maybe? The thought of rats ganging together to haul off giant jars of fruit made him laugh, but he was genuinely intrigued. He put his ear to the mound, hoping to learn more. He listened intently for a few minutes, but suddenly the earth burst, and he was thrown back against an empty shelf. As the dust cleared, he found himself staring face-to-face with a gangly-looking woman, who gave him a giant, toothy grin of razor-sharp incisors. Before his life ended, he had just enough time to make one final testament to his existence.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

-:-

The atmosphere was festive, but the guests were growing restless, and none was more restless than the esteemed host, Melvyn Kunst. This was a banquet, but where was the food? The kitchen was becoming seriously late. He had sent Benet and two other guards to check up on the staff, but they hadn't returned yet. Although he had done his utmost to play the gracious host, any more delay would be seen as insulting. He hadn't gone this far to be dragged down by petty bullshit like this. He saw the Armanis seated on the ring to his right, the Preises seated to the left and felt their gazes boring into him. Several times he had to stop his own foot from nervously tapping the floor. He hated that habit. Made him look weak.

He was about to take matters into his own hands when the doors suddenly opened and a gigantic domed silver serving platter came rolling in on a wheeled table. Surprisingly, it was not a servant pushing the thing but a guard decked out in full armor. But he had sent guards to check on things, anyway, and from the aromatic smell of roasted meat, he could tell that this was the main course, likely a boar of some variety. Whatever, he was just relieved that it came.

The guard drew closer and closer, walking at a slow and methodical pace. He brought the platter to the top of the ring, naturally, for where the host was seated. The guard placed one hand on the platter cover's handle, Kunst made a motion to lift the cover, and everyone leaned forward a little to get the glimpse at what they would be eating.

And all hell broke loose. Projectile vomit spilled from both wings, men and women fainted, and others reached for their weapons. Kunst stood there frozen as he stared at the heads of Benet, his guards, and the rest of his staff, roasted to a crispy brown, sitting on a bed of lettuce, and garnished with a ring of eyeballs. He was still just about completely unresponsive when two talons were jammed into his eyeballs and deep into his brain, killing him instantly. While babbling and screaming incoherently, his wife Angela managed to reach for her fallen husband's sword. However, in her panic, she failed to undo the safety latch and tugged at the thing futilely until only a moment later both her arms were severed at the elbows. She ran in circles, waving her arms like a wounded chicken and spraying blood all over the other guests. Mercifully, she managed to slip on a puddle of her own blood and knocked herself unconscious before bleeding out.

Meanwhile, the catering guard had pulled off her helmet, revealing herself to be none other than the Kadyx, the Claymore that these movers and shakers thought they had killed. With a cackling laugh, she licked her blade as the other guests, the ones who were conscious, at least, turned to flee only to find that the door had been barred from the other side. The kid who had gone out to get more preserves had returned to a kitchen of corpses, and the Kadyx gave him a simple choice: help or die. He wisely chose the former and blocked off the entrance to the dining hall with every bit of furniture that he could push over there.

The stage was set. Transforming to her full bestial form, the Kadyx was a sight more terrifying than any yoma that had ever lived in these parts. Some would-be heroes screamed in horror as their non-enchanted weapons bounced harmlessly off the monster's skin, right before they found themselves decapitated and bisected in a single stroke. As for the Kadyx, she hadn't had this much fun in a long time. This world could be strange and confusing, but this was familiar to her. As far as her eye could see, there were treacherous slavers who deserved nothing less than death, and with every swing of her claws, she hit an Enemy.

The floor ran slick with blood as she mowed through the crowd like grass. The Preises, the family of merchants, put up no fight. Elnora, again, had been one of the first to faint and had her skull smashed as the Kadyx stomped about the table. The Armanis did slightly better. Acilo Armani and a team of his Dirks tried to put up a desperate last stand, utilizing what advantages of speed they had, trying to keep her distracted while ducking around the room. It could have worked on a dumb beast, but they were dealing with a creature that had lived a war of life and tactics. She toyed with them a bit, threw Acilo's body around like a ragdoll until it bled from every pore. She broke another one's legs and chased him around the room until he passed out from exhaustion and blood loss.

Pretty soon, she was just down to one, just one terrified kid who had soiled his pants and was looking rather unappetizing. She was taught to never leave loose ends, but that didn't mean she couldn't be creative. She threw him into the corner and, with taking the silver platter that she had brought in, she chucked roasted heads at him at tremendous speed. He stopped moving after getting smashed in the head by the third throw, but she emptied the platter for good measure.

The Kadyx looked at her handiwork, no doubt feeling a small amount of pride at having cleared the room of the Enemy. It was a good day, or, rather, it was a good start.

-:-

Once a prosperous town, the jewel of Toulouse, Rossi is now nothing more than a graveyard. With its inhabitants slaughtered or fled, there was no one to bury the bodies, whose rotting flesh and bones were left for packs of scavengers. It is a haunted place, a cursed place, a testament and parable to the corruption of men who serve the yoma. Some speak of judgment from a higher power. Others, refugees, have only tales of survival, including the legend of the last to leave the town, a ghostly woman with a small child in tow, singing a tune in an undecipherable tongue.

The Claymore organization has denied all knowledge of the incident.

* * *

AN: To my reader who inquired about the status of Ophelia, I would like to say that I've never heard of anything surviving the stomach of a tarrasque, so I can say with 99% confidence that the real Ophelia will never rear her gangly head again. Of course, anything might happen if it's lulzy enough. And lulz is what this fic is about. And dumb pop culture references.


End file.
